


Fucked Up Franken-Fossils: The Fossil Fix-It Fic

by cuddlesome



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Body Horror, Dinosaurs, Gen, Gordie being Gordie, Unethical Experimentation, Weird Biology, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlesome/pseuds/cuddlesome
Summary: Galarian fossil restoration produces abject nightmares but damn it if Gordie doesn't have compassion for them.
Relationships: Makuwa | Gordie & Hyouta | Roark, Makuwa | Gordie & Ukattsu | Cara Liss
Comments: 24
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Was talking to my friend about the lack of fics about Galarian fossil pokémon and she said, and I quote—
> 
> “jhgjfcg kfjl f  
> ur boy gordie goes rock climbing  
> finds some fossils  
> he's like hey let me revive these guys  
> the lady does it and he's like wait no this is nightmare”
> 
> I've gotta credit her for helping me with the title, too.
> 
> I'd say I'm sorry for the groanworthy pun I made for barbaracle's nickname but I'd be lying. Also his nickname is kind of relevant thematically and sets up contrast for later.

Rock climbing is a full-body workout. There's no denying the strength in Gordie's legs, his fans compliment them often enough, but he knows his upper body could use a little more work so he makes an effort to find somewhere to free climb on weekends away from the gym.

Route 6 has a lot of historical monuments to avoid, but eventually he finds a spot where there aren't any diglett sculptures in the way. No ladders, either, so there's nothing to obstruct him from free climbing. Getting actual equipment beyond a worn-out escape rope would probably be advisable, but what's life without a little danger?

He takes along his barbaracle, Handsome, to give him a hand—or seven—if he needs it. The choice is mostly due to every other member of his team being totally unsuited to the activity thanks to stubby, weak arms and heavy lower bodies. In shuckle's case, there's also a contrary attitude that would just lead to Gordie carrying him under one arm while he attempted to climb with the other.

Still, even bringing the barbaracle feels excessive. It's perfectly safe; he's done it dozens of times and nothing beyond some minor rotator cuff tears came of it. He's sure he's not going to fall and hit his head or break his back or any of the other catastrophic injuries Mum came up with when he offhandedly mentioned his climbing.

Well, he's sure until the rockfall, anyway.

Maybe a quake or a pokémon high above stepping on something sets it off. Whatever the reason, one moment Gordie is trying to decide where the optimal place to put his foot would be, the next he's trying to shield his face with his forearm from falling debris.

Handsome grabs him and protects him from the worst of it with his arms, but they both tumble to the bottom of the cliff after losing their grip. So much for the rope. Handsome doesn't exactly cushion the landing when they hit the ground. Gordie has the wind knocked out of him as his back slams into the barbaracle's stony chest. It's only because he wasn't high up plus dumb luck that he doesn't break his back like he'd been warned he might. Some rocks continue to rain down on them as they lay there. Gordie winces as one strikes a glancing blow off of his sunglasses, cracking the lens. It almost certainly would've gotten his eye if not for them.

Maybe Mum had a slight point about the dangers of rock climbing. Not that he'll ever admit it or recount this little incident to her.

Even after the dust settles, Handsome doesn't seem willing to release him from the multi-armed hug.

Gordie pushes at one of his arms. "I'm fine, you ninny, you don't have to hold me forever."

The barbaracle grumbles and squeezes him a little tighter, then releases him. Gordie rolls off of his pokémon and onto his back beside him, grunting as he aggravates some sore spots. 

He glances back at Handsome. "You alright?"

The barbaracle makes a thumbs-up with his head hand.

Gordie sighs in relief. Still, he gets out a max potion to spritz him down with. Once his pokémon is taken care of, he lays back down and takes stock of himself, wriggling all of his fingers and toes and moving each limb. He's got more than a few bumps and bruises, particularly where he'd landed on his barbaracle, but nothing's broken. A small, centralised part of his back, just above the wide bruise he got courtesy of Handsome's chest, is killing him. He'd rolled over onto something hard and pointy that now digs into his left shoulder blade. He shifts and reaches behind him, grabs the offending object, and brings it in front of him. Unsurprisingly, it's a rock. Utter betrayal from the things he built his whole bloody image around.

He raises his hand to throw the rock aside, then does a double-take as he makes out some of the finer details in it. He brings it closer to his eyes and pushes his damaged sunglasses out of the way. Just as he thought, there are bones entombed in the rock. 

Handsome lets out one of his rough calls to get his attention.

"What is it?"

His pokémon holds up another fossil. They consequently get up and pick through the other rocks in the area but don't find any more of them.

A few hours later, once he's back in his flat in Circhester, Gordie holds the second fossil in his hands while the first rests on his desk beside the rest of his rock collection. He turns it over and looks at it from different angles. He wishes he had a better idea of what he was looking at. A fin? Maybe? 

His rotom phone floats in midair above him, ringing lowly over the speaker. An international call for something like this is overkill, but he's never liked the impersonal nature of emails. Luckily, he manages to catch Roark when he’s outside of the mines and the Underground.

“Can’t believe you actually picked up your phone for once,” he says when Roark answers. “You’re always way too busy for your mates.”

Roark scoffs. “Well, sorry! Some of us actually work for a living outside of gym battles.”

“Hey, I do other work.”

“Posing for your photo albums doesn’t count.”

“It should. Those studio lights are hotter than my coalossal.” Gordie sits back in his chair. "But listen, I didn’t call to discuss our job situations. You have a rampardos and an aerodactyl, right? Want to tell me how you got them back in the land of the living?"

"It's a secret." Gordie can all but hear him grinning.

"Come on. You could spill it for a fellow rock type gym leader slash...” He gropes for something else they have in common. “...mine enthusiast."

There’s no way to succinctly mention they also both have parents in the gym leader business. It’s a bit of a sore spot, anyway.

"Can't. Sorry, Gordie."

"How about I give you one of my rare league cards next time I'm in town? I'll sign it and everything. That thing would be priceless, so if I see it for sale online I'll kill you," Gordie says, pushing his bangs out of his face. "Or I could just snog you. You know, whichever you'd prefer."

"Tempting," Roark laughs. "It's not really a secret, I just like keeping you in suspense."

"Git. Out with it, then."

Roark explains that he had the fossilised remains turned back into living pokémon in the local museum in Oreburgh. How the process works is a bit of a mystery to him, as the man who does it is really touchy about being watched, but it's essentially as simple as handing over petrified remains and returning to a living, breathing pokémon.

Gordie whistles. “Thought all you had at that museum was loads of coal.”

“What’s wrong with coal?” Roark asks, sounding a mite offended. “Didn't you catch half of your pokémon in coal mines?"

“Listen, I’m just surprised that you have a museum that brings dead pokémon back to life but little combustible rocks are the main attraction.”

"Fair enough."

They chat for a bit longer about Roark’s most recent finds on digs and the possibility of what type of pokémon were preserved in the fossils Gordie found. In Roark's experience they're always rock types, so he looks forward to that.

Once he's off the phone, Gordie contemplates both fossils in either hand. He's not planning on traveling until his off-season when Mum runs the gym, which is a long time to wait to go to Oreburgh. Patience has never been one of his strong suits. There’s got to be someone in Galar doing the same sort of research.

It turns out to be easier to find someone to restore the fossils than he thought. After some digging online, he ends up right back on route 6 with a fresh pair of sunglasses. He wanders around aimlessly for a while in search of a woman in a lab coat with an odd little machine. A friendly camper points Gordie in the right direction after he takes a selfie with her and promises to make curry with her and her friends after he's completed his errand.

"Thanks, love. Wait up for me, yeah? I'll make it worth your while," Gordie says with a grin and a saucy wink that has her blushing to the roots.

Minutes after, he finds the scientist he was searching for. She introduces herself as Cara Liss, which might be the most unfortunate name he's ever heard.

He holds out the fossils for her to take.

"I found these and wanted to see if you could, you know." Gordie wiggles his fingers in the air. "Make them less dead."

Cara examines them. "A fossilised fish and a fossilised drake. You want to restore these, huh, Gym Leader Gordie?"

Gordie nods. She tosses them both into the machine. He blanches. He didn't realise she meant both at once. Maybe the two tubes at the top of the machine should have tipped him off.

"Here... we... GO!" Cara slams the side of her fist into a button.

The machine lets out a series of electronic whirs and meters on the side flicker with measurements well beyond his understanding. Gordie tenses, unsure of what to expect. The end result is underwhelming—a pokéball pops out of the bottom, simple as a gumball.

"Success!" She hands over the pokéball. 

"Brilliant," Gordie says, still feeling a bit wary. "A bit quick, innit?"

"Cara Liss optimised the process to be as fast as possible."

She seems so confident his thought that she might have bodged it seems less and less likely.

She gestures to the pokéball. "Dravovishes were apex predators. Very powerful jaws. Still, Cara Liss doesn't think a capable gym leader should have any trouble handling it."

Despite still being put-off by the combination of what he was decently sure were two unlike fossils in under ten seconds, Gordie preens; he never gets tired of compliments. "Good to know. Thanks loads, professor."

"Oh, Cara Liss is not a professor. She dropped out of university before she could get her doctorate." She sniffs. "Not that she needs one."

Oh. Hm. That's a bit worrisome. Maybe he should've swotted up on her credentials—or lack thereof—before handing her prehistoric artifacts. Gordie pockets the pokéball, feeling it press against one of the holders on his hips on one side and dig into the meat of his thigh on the other.

Apropos of nothing, Cara adds, “Another trainer came by with fossils and restored an arctozolt earlier. But for whatever reason, she didn’t want it. You should take it. A gift from the generous Cara Liss.”

Arcto-what? That doesn’t sound good.

“Thank you, but I don't—“

“Here you go.” She places another pokéball in the hand he'd been using to wave her off and turns away to fiddle with her machine.

Gordie stares down at the pokéball. Maybe it's a misnomer. Maybe it's not an ice type. It better not be an ice type.

He pockets the other pokéball and looks back up at Cara. "So, do I owe you anything, or..?"

"You would insult Cara Liss' pursuit of knowledge by involving money, Gym Leader Gordie?" She tosses her head back and cackles. "Ha! Cara Liss laughs at you! Ha ha ha!"

"Right."

He'd feel bad if he didn't give her something, so he hands her one of his league cards before returning to the camper he'd met before to fulfill his promise to cook with her. 

He contributes some sweet berries to the pot and is pleased to see everyone else in the group follow suit. With everyone's combined efforts, the curry turns out delicious. Gordie swears the healing properties for pokémon might even help with the injuries he'd sustained earlier. He lets Handsome out to share in the spoils. He's more than earned it. 

He considers releasing his two new pokémon to socialise with the others, but something stops him from even getting the pokéballs out. His pensiveness must show on his face, because the camper asks him if everything is okay and suddenly all of her friends are looking at him, too. It takes a cheeky reply and a flippant toss of his hair to reassure them he's fine. 

He flirts with the camper for a while after that just because it's fun to see her go red again at his attention. Then he autographs a few things for her friends once they pluck up the courage to ask him. If there's one thing he loves about his job, it's the fans stroking his ego. It makes him feel so _powerful_ , so special and important, building up his otherwise fragile self-esteem that his mum had thoroughly torn down.

Gordie hails a taxi to head back home with a warm, full belly and an overall good mood. That something from before still nags at him, though. There's an odd sense of dread every time he touches the pokéballs in his pocket. Eventually he crosses his arms and looks out of the window of the corviknight taxi just to stop himself from doing it.

He arrives back at his flat no less agitated. He almost convinces himself to wait until the next morning to look at either of his newly-revived fossil pokémon. The thought of going to bed with so much anxiety, however, convinces him that he should just get it over with. Gordie huffs out a humorless laugh as he steps into the shower. 'Get it over with.' He should be excited, why is he treating it like a chore?

He uses his customary amounts of shampoo and conditioner—nearly a fourth of each bottle—to wash out the equally copious amounts of gel he puts in his hair. Then he spends an inordinate amount of time scrubbing his fair skin raw with a soaped-up washcloth and shaving his legs to dratini-smoothness. The water runs cold by the time he gets out.

It's a weird habit, but he puts his jewelry right back on the moment he can, even knowing he's going to go to sleep in a bit. He feels oddly self-conscious without his necklace and ring, even when there's no one around. He'd probably wear sunglasses when he's alone in his flat at night too if he felt like it didn't push him right into the ridiculous category, even for him.

Finally, with his hair dried in its natural style and with his pyjamas on, he goes to his living room and grabs the first pokéball from where he'd left it in his shorts pocket. And that bad feeling is still there. The feeling that something's wrong.

Gordie grits his teeth. Three, two—

He tosses the pokéball in the air. As it turns out, his intuition was right. There are several things very, very wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating two Gordie-related fics today because he's an absolute icon.

Dracovish is a nauseating beast of a pokémon. It wiggles its flippers limply and gapes at him with a piscine mouth full of knife-point teeth. That empty, dead-eyed visage is haunting.

Zacian's sword, what's wrong with this thing? 

Stupid question. The answer is simple, innit? Everything. Everything is wrong.

There's a spot on its lower half, on its—torso?—where it looks like there should be something more, but instead there's just an open cavity. The head puts the tail... neck... part... at an awkward forward curve with its weight. It doesn't have any arms, which doesn't do its sense of balance any favors.

It smells just as bizarre as it looks, reeking of ammonia and brine and something leathery. Gordie gags. The curry he ate earlier churns in his stomach.

It tilts its whole upper body forward so it can lumber towards him. It’s absolutely freakish to watch. It charges forward with confidence but it also appears like it could fall forward on its face. Gordie can't stop himself from stepping back. Once it gets what it must judge to be close enough, it straightens up, towering over him and almost brushing the ceiling. Stonjourner looms over him at an even bigger height, but at least he’s cute. This is just terrifying.

The dracovish continues to stand there, jaws hanging open, making a horrible gasping noise. After a long moment of hesitation, Gordie presents his ringed left hand, palm-up, vaguely remembering Raihan saying that that was the best way to let a dragon get a trainer’s scent. Or bite their hand off. One or the other. 

The dracovish leans forward, teetering precariously as its centre of balance shifts again.

...maybe he should take Nessa’s method for pokémon introductions into account since the head denotes its water typing. ‘Draco’ comes first in the name, it’s an easy mistake—!

Oh Arceus, oh fuck, its head is so close. It doesn’t even have a proper nose, what was he thinking? Too late now, the dracovish has decided this is an invitation to nibble on his fingers. It doesn't break the skin but it doesn't exactly feel great, either. A sharp tooth grazes the top of his ring with a little screech. What had Cara Liss said about powerful jaws? Gordie stays stone-still, biting the inside of his cheek.

It's going to eat his hand, it's going to eat his hand—it's not his pokeball-throwing hand, but still, he kind of needs that!

"Oi. That's enough of that." He withdraws his hand and pats the middle of the dracovish's head, trying to ignore the shaking in his fingers.

The dracovish rumbles and half-closes its eyes, exhaling rancid breath into his face with a sigh, then it gasps again.

"You're not so scary." It absolutely is, it's the scariest thing he's ever seen, but he feels better if he says it isn't.

Maybe if he just talks to it the way he talks to his other pokémon when he's sweet talking them...

"Aw, you're just a wee little lad, aren'tcha?" He pets him some more, stroking its tail-neck with his other hand.

The scales on its head are a completely different texture than the ones on the rest of it, smooth and slimy versus sandpapery and jagged, like it's going to cut him. It rumbles in pleasure as he switches to using his fingernails to scratch the dragon scales, though it flinches when he does the same on its fish scales.

“Soft touch here,” Gordie murmurs, switching back to the flat of his hand on its head. “You’re very particular.”

It wriggles its tail—body.... neck—thing. Gordie chooses to take that as a good sign. It almost certainly can't understand what he's saying, but pokémon as a rule can catch on to human body language and tone. He regularly calls his shuckle Juicy a little arsehole, because, well, he is, but he says it in the most affectionate way possible so he won't offend him.

The gasping noise the dracovish makes never really stops, in fact it only gets more frequent with the petting, but Gordie doesn't find it quite as unnerving. Eventually he withdraws his hands and takes an experimental couple of steps away. The dracovish gasps a bit louder and takes a half-step toward him.

"S'alright. I'm just going to go wash up and make you something to eat." And some tea for himself while he's at it, something to settle his stomach.

As before, he keeps his tone light, trying to communicate with that where he knows his words won't translate. Keeping one eye on the dracovish, Gordie retreats to the kitchenette on the other side of the room. He turns on the sink to wash off his hand, wondering idly if it's possible to get some ancient disease from—

The dracovish makes a noise part roar and part scream before he can finish his thought.

Gordie about jumps out of his skin. "Arceus damn it—"

The dracovish is across the room in mere seconds and bowls him over. The pokémon shoves its head under the faucet, bellowing and gurgling. Soon enough the drain has been blocked enough by its head to form a puddle for it to properly take water in through its mouth and expel it from its gills.

Gordie gapes at it from his new position on the floor, barely noticing the aches and pains from his little rock climbing adventure that had been aggravated by the fall.

"Were you just suffocating this whole time?" He shakes his head. "You poor bastard."

Maybe he would've deserved getting his hand eaten for not figuring that out.

He goes to his bathroom and starts filling up the tub with cold water. It occurs to him to wonder if Circhester's water, sourced from snowmelt and spring water, will be okay for its health. Hardy buggers like magikarp did fine enough in any sort of water, but would a dracovish? Neither the pokedex nor the internet are any help and he doesn't think consulting Cara Liss will yield much more information. He'll just have to hope for the best for now and call Nessa in the morning.

It takes some convincing and not a little pushing to get the dracovish away from the sink and over to the bathroom. Gordie's hand slips onto its icky open front at one point and the dracovish bellows at him for it.

“Sorry, mate, sorry!”

Once it spots the tub, however, it plunges its head in and seems utterly content, wriggling its tail and hopping from foot to foot in a little dance.

A short while later, Gordie leans against the bathroom wall and sips at a cup of pomeg tea thick and cloudy with raw combee honey while he watches the dracovish. He put some bitters in the tea for good measure; he feels a lot calmer and his stomach stops churning so much.

The fishy part of dracovish is fine now, but the rest of it is kind of stuck while the head remains in the water. He looks with a critical eye at the draconic legs and doubts that they'd be all that great at swimming in a larger body of water. They're built for running even if the long tail-neck and head aren't.

Gordie takes a bigger gulp of tea. What's he supposed to do with this thing?

Setting aside the comparatively minor fact that it clashes with his team, which would put it out of the running anyway, subjecting it to battling while it's in a constant state of agony would be cruel. He doesn't feel comfortable penning it up with a ditto to breed more monstrosities and doesn't know that he could, anyway. Releasing a foreign predator into the wild is illegal, and besides, the thing would get iced almost at once around here. Just tossing it in the computerised purgatory of the PC forever would haunt him.

Gordie chews on a waxy bit of honeycomb. He's running out of ideas. 

The dracovish abruptly pulls its head out of the water and turns to look at him with those horrific eyes. Gordie flinches and almost sloshes his hot tea on himself.

"Something wrong?"

The dracovish burbles and makes that horrible gasping noise again, then leans forward, jaws parted. It butts its forehead against his chest with a wet wheeze and its flippers pat with limp motions against his shoulders.

"This your way of thanking me?" Gordie grins and strokes the dracovish's head. "You really don't have to, it was my fault you were hurting in the first place."

He sobers. It'd probably be better if the poor thing stayed two rock-embedded sets of remains instead of this miserable existence.

The dracovish pulls away and goes back to the water to plunge its head in. Gordie sets down his tea and goes over to partly drain the tub and refresh it with new water. He's only a little terrified when the dracovish's halved torso brushes his arm.

The absolute abomination of a pokémon is still scary, but it's a little less scary now. 


End file.
